Excerpt: Moonlight

He was there when I arrived the following morning.

“Morning.” I muttered, unwilling to meet his eyes, fearful that doing so would entice the words and expressions buried deep within me to burst out.

“Hi.” Matt replied. He did not smile.

This was what it was now to be like around him? Being barely capable of muttering mere monosyllables while he was near, all due to the fact that I was reluctant to mention the events that had destined us to this quiet?

“Right, lets start from the beginning…” I decided, trying to fill the silence that hung in the air, a curtain of my own devising.

We took hold as the music started, fully aware of the camera lens stalking us around the floor, absorbing every movement, every touch and every word, waiting to use it in a way completely unimaginable in the ordinary mind. At this point it was both a blessing and a curse.

“One, two, three, four… one, two, three, four…” I whispered almost inaudibly, praying inwardly that the timing would sink in correctly in the near future. If it didn’t the dance had the potential be a complete disaster. No one could afford to make any mistakes, no matter how slight, in the quarterfinals.

When we reached our point of conclusion from the previous day I bit my lip trying to vanish from my mind the fact that I had been leading for most of the routine. “We’ll go into a quarter turn from here…” I explained to him as the music continued in the background, now completely void of meaning and truth.

A flood of disappointment washed over me as I received no response, not verbally anyway. He was listening, doing what I said, what I asked, the perfect student-teacher relationship, but there was no energy, no emotion. It almost would have been worse if Matt wasn’t there at all. Almost.

We redid the routine from about twenty seconds in, leading up to the quarter turn it was apparent that Matt seemed to have grasped in his state of silent tutelage. Frustrated, I stopped leading coming up to the quarter turns knowing I couldn’t let it become a habit. I winced in pain as Matt’s foot crushed mine briefly, the turn going completely awry.

“Sorry! Are you ok?” Matt exclaimed, pulling away. But I was sure his words were only for the benefit of the camera, which had promptly zoomed in on our faces the moment we stopped dancing.

“I’m fine.” I reassured him, half lying. “Let’s try it again…we still have plenty of time.”

“I’m never going to get it right…” Matt sighed, temporarily forgetting his muted mask and sinking back into the depths of despair.

“Don’t be silly Matt…” I said, glad he was speaking in more than monosyllabic responses. “Once we fix the timing everything will be fine. It’s the start of the week, things can only get better.” I half smiled as I said it, sounding so confident that I almost actually believed what I was telling him.

“Whatever you say…” He replied as we started dancing yet again, unfortunately still alternating leading.

As I tried to silently force him to take control I couldn’t help but think back to what I had said a few seconds previously. Things could only get better as the day progressed. It was only a matter of time

***

Ten o’clock came, then half-ten, then eleven, and everything was much the same. The cameraman had taken a break long ago, leaving only Matt and I in the room, completely unrecorded.

Somehow I had managed to outline the rest of the routine, but it was nowhere near week one standard let alone what would be expected of us in week ten. The timing was off, my toes were throbbing from being repeatedly stepped on and there was no connection between the dance and the music.

My hope of finishing the routine by the end of the afternoon had long since evaporated. Frustration bubbled up inside on every occasion a foot was in the wrong place or our body connection faltered for even a second, which seemed to be happening a good bit. One could probably devote a whole segment on It Takes Two to the constant arguments Matt and I had partaken in since the session had begun.

“Stop.” I instructed pulling away from the hold attempting to inwardly calm the anger, frustration and panic inwardly battling for my attention. “We have no connection at all.”

“Sorry…” Matt mumbled half-heartedly, his expression resembling that of a schoolboy being scolded.

“There has to be constant body contact otherwise the whole thing will fall apart…” I reminded him, sick to death of telling him that every five minutes.

“I know, I know…”

“Well then why I aren’t you doing it right?” I snapped, immediately regretting my words as soon as they escaped my lips. The last thing I needed was another fight.

“I’m trying!” He forcefully replied staring directly at me for the first time that morning. “Do you think this is easy for me? I’m doing my best and that just doesn’t seem to be good enough for you!”

I stood there frozen in position, allowing myself to be hit by the strangeness of the situation. Matt had never raised his voice at me in that way before. Even in some of the other dances we’d struggled with it had never happened.

“Do you seriously think I’m not trying?” He shouted again a twinge of sadness tainting his agitation.

“I never said that…” I practically whispered.

“But that’s what you were thinking.” He retorted and I stepped back, stung. How could he have such a negative opinion of me? “I shouldn’t even have to be here! I could be learning lines for the filming I have to do next week or I could be piecing my life back together, but no! Instead I’ve spent the last two hours being yelled at by you all so that the BBC can keep their precious TV schedule!”

“Is that what you think then?” I snapped, “That you’re the only person with problems, that the weight of the world is solely placed on your shoulders?”

He did not answer.
“Well I have some news for you Mr Di Angelo.” I spat venom infecting every word in a malicious way I had not thought possible. “You’re not the only one with problems and the old you would never have been too proud to admit that.”

“The old me isn’t here.” He shot back, just as venomously “But I’m sure he’d admit that you are acting like everything is my fault. What problems could you have that would even compare with what I’m trying to deal with right now?”

“Lets see, shall we?” I replied sarcastically, unaware that hot angry tears were welling up in my eyes. “I’ve got an ex-boyfriend that won’t let go, I’m living in constant fear of having my name dragged through the mud by a trashy newspaper, I’m facing the possibility of having nowhere to live, I could lose my job if we blow up on Saturday and…”

Self-control belatedly took over, barely stopping me from revealing the secret that could change everything.

“And what?” He pressed, his tone still forceful.

“Nothing…” I mumbled, stepping back, only now realising how close we had been throughout our heated exchange. “It’s nothing.”

“That just seems to be it with you, doesn’t it?” Matt replied, his face twisting in frustration.

“What?” I stood, opposite him, momentarily confused. What sort of hard-hitting argument could he have concocted from my last meagre reply?

“There’s something you’re not telling me. Something important. And until I find out what it is I’m not doing this anymore…not to save anyone else.” Then he sharply turned and walked out the door in almost a repeat of what I had done the previous evening.

“Wait!” I croaked, when my body and mind finally responded to what was happening. Willing my legs to move I bolted out of the room, leaving the door swinging violently at my abrupt exit.

I skidded to a halt, as I now found myself frozen in position on the corridor, which at first appeared deserted until…until I saw him.

Matt.
Sprawled on the wooden floor.
Limp.
Motionless.

Immediately, I ran to him and dropped to his side, knowing that if I wasn’t careful more than our future in Strictly would be over.